The Battle

It was horrible.

Words were tossed back and forth with no discretion whatsoever.

A hateful jab here, a spikeful retort there.

My heart raced with the frustration!

For ages I had been trying to crack him.

I had to admit, he was a tough one, and it was my first time.

And then he nicked me.

He actually nicked me!

He had dared to draw first blood; a minor cut, but symbolic of aggression nonetheless.

I picked up my bowie knife, flourished once;

And then we were beyond words.

I slashed wildly, resorting to primal instinct.

But he circumvented every blow.

I attempted to be more methodical, calculative, and instead tried to exploit his weaknesses.

But alas even that path proved futile.

Never before had I encountered an opponent so battle hardened!

The skirmish continued for several minutes.

I started growing weary.

He was making me waste my strength by letting me revert to slashing wildly.

Oh so weary.

Then I caught him.

I had him beneath my hand, pinning him to the ground.

With no mercy,

No quick witted finale,

I plunged.

I rammed my knife down, driving my blade almost a third of the way through;

Abandoning the last of my finesse, I pressed down.

I pressed my palm on the back of the blade to drive it deeper.

And with one final burst of strength, I severed him neatly in two pieces!

There he lay, underneath my wet ragged cloth,

Bowie knife triumphant.

Silenced forever.



And then through death, he dealt his final blow.

He was not even ripe!



It explained why he was so hard to crack open.

I followed the lines,

I did!

But never mind that.



There will always be more durians to open.